


Simon Gets an F

by orphan_account



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Simon Loves Watford, Watford Sixth Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:38:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Simon,” Professor Kurtze says gently, “If you don’t bring at least one class up by a letter grade before the end of the semester, you’re going to be expelled from Watford.”





	Simon Gets an F

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: only after i wrote this did i realize that UK and US would NOT have the same grading system, and i feel like a proper idiot because that’s literally the entire plot of this fic. but i didn’t feel like rewriting it after how long i spent on it. so, uh, think of it as a fun AU in which everything is the same except they have a GPA system! (oof)
> 
> if you’re english, i’m so sorry for destroying your boys by making them talk about american GPA. here’s a link that explains grade equivalents in hopes that you still enjoy this fic regardless: https://www.ten-percent.co.uk/conversion-table-for-us-gpa-to-uk-class-degrees/

I think Baz cursed me.

That must be it. I’ve been trying and failing all morning to keep awake. I’ve downed an energy shot, I bit my tongue ‘til it bled, I even tried shoving an ice cube down my pants. (It melted quickly and now I just look like I’ve pissed myself.) I can’t keep my eyes open to save my life.

I slip into some kind of half-sleep state while taking notes, and when I jerk awake I see the phrase “like a ham and cheese sandwich without the bread” written in my handwriting, which is odd, considering I don’t remember hearing anything about sandwiches, and this is Magic Maths. (Technically, the course is called “Magickal Properties and Their Derivatives” but it pisses Baz off when I say “Magic Maths.”)

I write a note to Penny asking her to spell me awake and pass it up the column. Professor Kurtze stuck me and Baz together in the back at the start of the term so that our fighting wouldn’t be distracting, and Penny refused to sit anywhere but the front.

It takes a while, but the note gets to her. Instead of spelling me, she scribbles something quickly and passes back a note of her own.

 

> _No._

 

I write her a message back asking to at least let me copy her notes after class. When the note lands on her desk she doesn’t even open it or take time to compose a reply, she sends back another one that was apparently already written.

  

> _No. I gave them to you for the past four lectures. Just pay attention, Simon._
> 
> _And stop passing notes._

 

“Bunce finally drop your dead weight?” Baz whispers to my left.

I don't want to give him the satisfaction of a reply, but the insult gets me ruffled up. I huff in frustration and try not to let it affect my magic. I can tell Baz is enjoying my reaction anyway. At least now I’m on edge enough to stay awake for the rest of the lecture. If he _did_ try to curse me with some kind of sleep spell, he shot himself in the foot by riling me up. I feel a little better about that.

Eventually class ends, and I shove my things away as fast as possible in order to get to dinner right when the doors open, like I have every class for the past term.

“Simon.”

I’m almost at the door when Professor Kurtze steps in my path and I practically throw myself backwards to avoid colliding with her, slamming full-body into whoever was behind me. They shove me forcefully into the wall beside Kurtze before slipping past me and out the door.

Baz, then.

“Can you stay after for a moment?” Professor Kurtze asks me.

I want to say no, because it’s shepherd’s pie for dinner, and the dining hall is on the other side of the castle, and my head kind of hurts where it hit the wall, and I don’t want to think about maths longer than necessary, but I tell her yes and I stand beside her desk while we wait for everyone else to file out of the room. Penny is the last to go. She gives me a nod on her way, which means she’ll snag me a full pie if I’m late. (The ones at Watford are served in these huge family-style pans, and she knows I can easily tear through one and a half before the dining hall closes - two if Cook Pritchard lets me take the second one up to my room.) (Baz complained about the smell and threw it in the moat the first time.)

The fact that Professor Kurtze is waiting until everyone leaves makes me a bit anxious, but also kind of hopeful. The Mage hasn’t spoken to me all year; maybe she has a message from him. Professor Kurtze is in her first term of teaching at Watford, and isn’t as connected to the Mage as, say, Professor Possibelf, but he could have sent it through her to avoid raising suspicion or something.

“Have a seat, Simon.” She says, gesturing to Penny’s seat in front of her teaching desk. I do, a proper nervousness finally settling in. Word from the Mage would mean the passing of a scroll, not a face-to-face talk. A bit of magic hums to the surface of my skin as she rounds her own desk and pulls out a manilla folder.

“Do you know what this is about?” She asks.

“Is this about the notes, ma’am?”

She looks confused. “No?”

“The falling asleep in class?”

“The what?”

“If this is about the whispering, it was all Baz. I made sure not to say anything back.”

“No, this isn’t about whispering.” She starts to look a bit annoyed and decide to shut my mouth before I get in trouble for something she didn’t know about in the first place.

“You know my position here at Watford is to help students such as yourself, correct?”

“As the maths teacher?”

“As the?- No, as the Class Advisor for your year.”

I stare blankly at her.

“I took over for Professor Aduddwell?”

Professor Aduddwell quit after being mauled by merwolves, I remember that. What I don’t remember is him ever being a “Class Advisor.”

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

She sighs.

“Each year is assigned a professor to go to with questions about course curriculums, academic requirement progress, housing concerns-”

“Housing concerns! I have those!”

“Um, alright, we can discuss that at the end of this meeting, if you want,” (I nod vigorously.) “Though, those kinds of complaints are usually dealt with at the beginning of the year.”

“But I didn’t know you existed!” I’m practically shouting with all the excitement I feel about rooming with someone that isn’t Baz. “Ma’am.” I tack on the end.

“You really didn’t know about this position?” She seems put out.

I shake my head.

“But the Mage said he would send out-” She paused. “On second thought, I understand why you don’t know about this resource.” She paused again. “And why no one has come to see me all year…”

I shift uncomfortably at the mention of the Mage. Professor Kurtze isn’t wrong - he hasn’t sent out any school-wide letters this year. (No emails either, which were done before the technology ban.) Though, to be fair, he never really sent out many of those _before_ he got too busy to talk to me. Really only when the Coven got on his back about child safety after Humdrum attacks.

“Regardless, Simon, I need to talk to you about your GPA this semester.”

That makes me sit up. I hadn’t even thought much about my grades this year, which is ironic, because without the Mage around I’ve had more time than usual to focus on them. I’ve always been a primarily straight-C student, with the occasional D, and even rarer B-. I’ve only failed one class at Watford badly enough to retake it, but it was an elective, so only Penny noticed. (Why did I think I would be good at The History of Magickal Folklore when I’m literally the only person in the entire school who didn’t grow up with the stories?)

“Simon,” She says gently. “If you don’t bring at least one class up a letter grade by the end of the semester, you’re going to be expelled from Watford.”

I recoil like I’ve been struck. I knew I was bad at school, but I’ve never been worried about _flunking out_ before.

“You’ve been riding just below a 2.0,” Professor Kurtze continues, “This semester you have a D in my class, and C’s in the others, which would bring you down to a 1.81. Normally, this would not be much of an issue, and we would just work with you to bring it up by graduation, but you will have an accumulated total of 4 semesters with a failing GPA on your transcript in the past 3 years. Watford policy states we would have to expel you.”

“Expel?” I’m feeling legitimately ill now, and my skin is boiling with magic so hot that a few wisps of smoke curl off my arms.

Professor Kurtze looks concerned.

“Yes, Simon. 4 failing semesters in 3 years is against Watford policy. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Why. Why am I only just hearing about this? This sounds like the sort of thing students should know, particularly students who have _already failed 3 semesters, apparently_. I didn’t even know what my GPA was beyond Penny’s estimate two years ago. The Mage is my legal guardian, and the one who’s sent my semester marks. He sure as hell never told me I had anything to worry about - he’s probably the reason I failed as much as I did, pulling me out for weeks at a time.

But what’s my excuse this semester, when he hasn’t contacted me at all?

Watford is my home. I don’t think I could even fathom what my life would be without it. I guess exactly what my life is in the summers, but perpetually. My magic flares and I swallow back a lump in my throat at the thought. Less than three months in homes at a time is already difficult to take, I can’t do another 2 straight years. And without coming back here, I don’t know if I’ll ever be sure this _wasn’t_ a dream.

Part of me knows, logically, that the Mage would still take me on missions and make sure I defeat the Humdrum, but I’m nowhere near ready to face it, and the Mage is far too busy to train me himself. It’s practically a death sentence.

But it’s more than the destiny stuff. No more scones. No more filling meals. No more fitting uniform sweaters. No more Ebb. No more Agatha. No more Penny.

Oh god, no more Penny. When the Humdrum sends a monster I won’t even have her to help me. Or talk to. Or hug.

I won’t have anyone.

“Simon, are you okay?”

Blink at Professor Kurtze feel something slide down my face. Apparently, I’m crying. My magic is probably thick enough to pressure cook the room.

“I can’t get kicked out of Watford, ma’am, I can’t.” I sound desperate, especially with the tear on my face, but I don’t care.

She looks genuinely concerned.

“It doesn’t have to come to that, Simon, I promise. That’s what this meeting is for, is to keep it from happening. You just have to bring one class up by a letter grade. Let’s take a look at your mid-semester grades, alright?”

Professor Kurtze goes over the report by class with me. It quickly becomes clear that I was told far too late about this very major problem - there’s only two weeks left of the semester and every class is pretty much over with except for final exams. But the real punch in the face is the fact that most exams at Watford are magic-based, meaning I have to stand in front of the teacher and perform a series of spells correctly. I already suck at controlling my magic normally, but when I’m nervous (as in, being tested) I’m even worse. I can’t even imagine how bad it’s going to be with all this on the line.

I only have one class this semester that has a non-performative final.

“Magickal Properties and Their Derivatives.” Professor Kurtze says. “My class.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Currently a D... a relatively high one, all things considered.”

I nod numbly.

“The only grade left is also the final.” She says, folding her hands and looking me up and down like she’s checking if I’m about to blow.

I’ve calmed down enough to not be on the verge of tears or going off, but I still feel awful. Sort of hollow and frayed inside. Like the husks of the oranges after Cook Pritchard makes me squeeze them into juice on kitchen duty.

“Simon,” Professor Kurtze meets my eyes, “You need to get a B on this final.”

I try not to laugh hysterically. There’s a reason I have a D in Magic Maths. I suck at it. It’s all theoretical equations that you have to get from other equations that didn’t make sense in the first place. There’s dozens of rules to memorize and even more to apply. I get lost on the homework with the textbook guiding me step by step, and trying to read the questions on the tests makes me feel like I accidentally stumbled into Spells of Ancient Languages. Part of me thinks only reason I don’t have a zero in the class is the 5 completion points you get on each assignment just for putting your name on it.

But Professor Kurtze is right; this is the only class that doesn’t require me to suddenly develop control over the nuclear mushroom cloud that is my magic, which means it’s the only grade I have even a remote chance at improving.

“I think you can do it.” She says, and I _do_ laugh at that one, involuntarily. A bit hysterical. She frowns. “I’m serious, Simon. You’re smart, you just need to study and apply yourself. Stay awake during class, put in some extra time at the library. Come to office hours and ask me questions. I’ll help you figure out what to study.”

I play with the idea of cramming Spell-Shaping Linguistics enough to pass the non-magic section of the exam and try to boost that class instead - because at least I vaguely understand tongue positions - but the knowledge is only worth 50%, and I don’t think it’s physically possible to bring my grade up on that alone. (I’m also not positive I understand the Great Sixteenth Century Vowel Shift.)

I think about the concrete walls and creaky bunkbeds of the Boy's Homes, the powdered eggs on styrofoam plates for dinner, the fistfights when I try to change the channel on the communal TV, shaving my head a week before Christmas while Baz celebrates never having to see me again.

“Alright,” I say. “I’ll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> howdy. i don't know how regularly this will update - sorta just writing when i can. i have quite a bit more done so if i get a lot of positive response i'll see it through to the end! 
> 
> thank you for reading - a comment or kudos means the world.
> 
> (if you can guess what the title is referencing, comment below for some validation)


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